"R. A. MacAvoy - Damiano" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacAvoy R A)

the soul's own duty, and you know that clearly, don't
you?"
 Damiano did not know itтАФnot on certain issues,
anyway. Behind Damiano's teeth, white and only slightly
uneven, trembled the question that had waited in si-
lence for three years, ripeningтАФthe terrible question
about the necessity of virginity. Surely now was the
time to broach it. Raphael had practically asked for
such a questionтАФit was not something unrevealed to
men, after all, but only knotty. Such an opportunity
would not knock again.
He heard a scrabble and panting on the stairs, and
his dog tore into the hall, calling, "Master, Master,
there's a soldier at the door. With a spear!"
She was a small dog, knee-high, very heavy in the
head and shoulders, and bandy-legged. Ugly. Her color
was white, except for a saddle mark over her shoul-
ders, and so she was called Macchiata, which is to say,
Spot.
"With a spear?" echoed Damiano, feeling the mo-
ment for his question dart off like some small animal
that, once frightened, will forever be harder to ap-
proach. He stood, indecisive, between the angel and
Macchiata.
"Pax tecum," whispered Raphael. His wings rose
and glittered, and he was gone.
Macchiata blinked at the disturbance in the air. She
shifted from leg to crooked leg, and her ruddy hackles
stood out like the quills of a hedgehog. "Did I scare
him away, Master? I'm sorry. I wouldn't scare Raphael
on purpose.
"тАФBut there's a soldier..."
"With a spear," added Damiano disconsolately,
and he slouched down the stairs after Macchiata.
 Chapter 2
The second floor of the house was broken up into
smaller rooms. Damiano passed through the vestibule
with its florid tiles and heavy, glinting hangings, where
the hearth sat smoldering through the short autumn
day. The door was made of oak panels layered with the
grain in different directions and studded with iron. It
stood ajar, as always, for the convenience of Macchiata.
The sergeant watched Damiano advance through
the dimness. It was a boy, the sergeant thoughtтАФa
servant. Beasts with human tongues were bad enoughтАФ
more than bad enough. That bitch made his honest,
though thinning, hair stand on end. He would not now
be pushed off on a servant. Not though Delstrego
could give a man boils with his stare, as the townsfolk
said. Pardo could do worse to the man who did not